


Round-Up

by Sad Cowboy Malone (NobleMalone)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Random & Short, Spoilers, assorted shorts, i'll just put the tags in the authors notes and y'all can figure it out, not gonna tag a bunch cuz i hate that shit for stuff like this, pulled off my tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 13:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleMalone/pseuds/Sad%20Cowboy%20Malone
Summary: A collection of short, unedited pieces from my tumblr, including Kiyanaw addendums and AU musings.





	1. Full Moon, Full Ass; Johnny Marston Tied Up and Tortured by Two Thicc Hunks

**Author's Note:**

> From my [Adult Entertainment Industry AU](https://assless-chapstick.tumblr.com/tagged/adult-entertainment-industry-au)
> 
> Background: Filming a porno where John is a werewolf that turns if he doesn't get fucked all night when the moon is full.  
"Tags": Charles, John, Bill, anal beads, erotic crying, coming untouched, bloopers

“Please, let me go…”

They’ve got John strapped to the St Andrew’s cross, half a string of anal beads shoved up his ass – the largest of the beads, about the size of a two-pound bowling ball, is held in Charles’s left hand – and the buzzing end of a Hitachi wand pressed against the leaking tip of his cock. His face is streaked with tears and snot and spit and he’s sobbing in that infamous Johnny Marston way, the way that’s netted him 1.6 million Twitter followers in three short years; overblown, but a little too wet and desperate to not be sincere.

Charles , if he squints, can see the appeal.

“Sorry, no can do, Johnny-boy,” says Bill, though if he’s trying to sound sympathetic, he’s failing badly; acting certainly isn’t his strong point. “There’s a full moon tonight, and if – if we don’t keep you tied up and, uh… busy?”

“Occupied,” Charles whispers, and it’s hard not to roll his eyes and ruin the shot. When doesn’t Bill flub his lines?

“Occupied with our fat cocks and your ass stuffed full, you know what’ll happen.”

The kid – he’s a year older than Charles, but he plays young, naïve ingénue so well they all think of him as The Kid – nods sadly, even as he bites his lip to stifle another sobbing moan that Charles knows is real. They’ve been at this nearly two hours, and while John’s a pro, Charles feels bad for him, the way his cock has turned a bruised, desperate shade of purple thanks to the cockring secured tightly around the base. He hasn’t safeworded yet, though, so the film keeps rolling.

“You’ll turn, baby,” Charles recites, lifting his free hand to stroke his thumb over John’s damp cheekbone, wiping ineffectually at the tears there. “We can’t risk you going wolf, the townsfolk’ll string you up. It’s for your own good.”

“Please,” John gasps, and the way he turns his head to try and suck Charles’s thumb into his mouth is telling; Charles senses disaster before it happens.

“Please, please, let me come, I just wanna fuckin’ come, I wanna come!”

“Cut!” Dutch’s voice is booming but resigned, and he heaves a sigh. “God Dammit. Bill, get the boy down, will you? We’ll finish shooting tomorrow, let the poor boy come.”

“No, no, please, keep goin’, let’s finish today, please, don’t stop –“ John shouts, even as Bill unclips the cockring. The kids hedonism really knows no bounds; even when he’s so fuck-drunk he goes off script, he doesn’t stop wanting. As frustrating as it is, Charles admires him for that.

John’s still sobbing when Charles sighs and rolls his shoulders, absentmindedly dropping the heavy anal bead he’d had to hold up to keep the string in John’s ass – the heavy ball drops to the ground and drags the whole chain of beads with it, yanking it out of John’s ass in one quick tug.

John howls like a beast untethered when he comes in long messy streaks over Bill’s hands where they're fumbling with the switch of the vibrator.

Dutch sighs.

“That’s going in the bloopers.”


	2. Van der Linde's Organic Grocer and Vegan Deli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: A piece I wrote to make myself laugh; as yet unfinished, maybe to be finished one day. John works as produce manager at an organic grocery store and Javier keeps coming in to troll him
> 
> "Tags": John, Javier, Trans Javier (if you squint really had but its my headcanon so shut), Safe For Work (almost)

“E-excuse me?”

John is in the produce section, as he is most days, stocking vegetables and directing handlebar-mustached hipsters to the kombucha (“Aisle three, right between the Soylent and the fair-trade chocolate cashew milk”) when he sees the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes on.

John’s far from picky, but he’s still got boxes, and this guy ticks all of them; dark hair and dark eyes, olive skin and an accent that hints at Hispanic. He’s got the weirdest mustache John’s ever seen, like it hasn’t quite grown in all the way, but his confidence manages to make it look intentional. He’s svelte but not scrawny, and his impeccably plucked, possibly filled eyebrows have John thinking, just for a moment, that God might be real.

He’s also pointing a daikon thicker and longer than his own forearm directly at John’s face, wielding it like a weapon rather than an unusually large radish.

“Condoms?” the man repeats, with the impatient tone of someone who’s heard one too many cracks about an accent he can’t hide. “You got any?”

_‘Please just raw me’_ – John doesn’t say it, but he thinks it. Loudly.

“Uh, yeah. Aisle six,” he says instead. “Right between the holistic Amazonian herbal supplements and the non-GMO, plant-based, uh… the lube.”

And then, because he’s apparently idiot and does what idiots do, he _points._

And the guy, because John is an idiot and does what idiots do, looks at him in that way people always look at idiots – a little amused, a little pitying. Mostly confused.

“Cool. You got like, extra large or something?”

John nearly chokes on his own damn tongue, and he can feel his face turning the colour of the organic hand-raised heirloom beets they got in last week.

“T-top shelf.”

“Thanks,” the guy says. He looks like he’s about to turn away, but before he does, he points the giant daikon at John’s feet.

“You dropped your spaghetti squash.”

The guys ass looks like two perfect free-range muskmelons fighting under a blanket as he walks away.

—

“So, what’s he look like?”

Arthur’s nearly in Charles’s lap as they sit at the little patio table outside the Starbucks, and he’s nearly falling out of Charles’s lap with the way he’s leaned over the table. The gayest thing about Arthur is his bloodhound-like nose for drama – and that’s saying something, considering he’s told John more than once how great Charles’s cock feels in his ass.

“Does he really gotta be here?” John asks, side-eyeing Charles dubiously. He’s known Arthur his whole life, since before either of them knew what _gay_ even meant. They practically grew up together; that’s the only reason John’d opened his stupid trap in the first place.

He wishes he’d kept his stupid trap shut.

“He won’t tell no one,” Arthur drawls, glancing over his shoulder at his (objectively very handsome, if intimidating) boyfriend. “You won’t tell no one, will ya, Peaches?”

Charles just smiles at John in that closed-mouthed, ‘I could crush your tiny idiot head between my thighs like an imported Guatemalan watermelon’ kind of way.

In this moment, John wishes he would.

“C’mon, John. What’s he like?”

“Uh… short, I guess?”

Arthur does not look impressed.

“’Short.’ You been hung up on this fool for four days after you only seen him for half-a-minute and all you got to say about him is he’s _short_?”

John just shrugs, focusing intently on his iced coffee. He’s still got a quarter of a cup left – maybe that’s enough to drown in, if he puts his mind to it.

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “Mexican or somethin’, with –“

“Jesus John, do you gotta be so damn _problematic_, he could be –“

“ – With dark hair and this, this nose, and he’s got these eyes –“

“ – Argentinian or Brazilian or Cuban or –“

“ – And this weird fuckin’ mustache, it’s so _stupid, _I hate it, it looks so _weird_ and so _cute_ and I just wanna chew it off his god damn face and, and fuckin’ gargle his fuckin’ nutsack 'til I get tonsillitis and _die_!”

There’s a long, quiet pause as the lady beside them – grey-haired, in her fifties, with a tight up-do and a pair of last season’s Manolo Blahnik sling-backs – gives them a withering glare over her copy of _Fifty Shades_.

“So,” Charles ventures, once Arthur is finished mumbling vague insults under his breath (_“_I may be gay, lady, but you’re the one wearing _nude sling-backs_ in twenty nineteen, you old bag…”).

“This guy, he’s got hair and a nose and eyes. Sounds charming.”

—

“Microwave?”

John’s white-knuckling the handle of the cart as if the weight of the locally-sourced Vidalia onions inside are the only thing keeping him tethered to this God forsaken earth.

The guy is back, holding a ten-pound watermelon, with a copy of Sports Illustrated – the swimsuit edition, no less – tucked under his arm.

And he’s wearing shorts. And a _crop top_.

“Yeah, you know, microwave? Like in the kitchen?”

John would give his left nut to be the little Playboy Bunny dangling from the guy’s bellybutton ring, right above the waistband of those shorts.

“You wanna microwave… that?”

He’d give his right nut to melt into the floor like organic soy cheese substitute.

“Uh huh,” the guy says, and if he winks, John’s too busy having a stroke to properly parse that little bit of visual input. “You think it’ll fit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is unfinished with no satisfying ending; basically it ends up with Javier asking about fucking a grapefruit, John being oblivious, and then the reveal is Javier's friends (Sean and Lenny) had dared him to do this weird shit because Javier has a crush on the Weird Produce Guy (John)  
They end up dating and its great the end.


	3. Another Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: Based in the Kiyanaw universe.   
Anon asked "Imagine ChArles having a nightmare that when he found Arthur he was already dead. He wakes up in a panic and realizes he is safe, Arthur is sleeping next to him and that damn cat is curled up at the foot of the bed purring. He is too jittery to fall back asleep so he just slides up close to Arthur and fiddles with his hair and just feels so happy it was all a bad dream. (And then the next morning they bang the end)."
> 
> "Tags": Charles, Arthur, Spoilers, Sad Shit

Sometimes, Charles has a dream.

He dreams of a mountainside at sunset, the sun dipping below the unforgiving peaks that lie on the western horizon. Dreams of orange and gold wildflowers that bloom like sunlight, and of a blue-eyed buck that turns, unshaken, towards him. 

Dreams of that blue-eyed buck slung across Taima’s withers, dead and bled out and putrid from the sun and the damp.

Dreams of the crack of gunfire and the smell of burning kerosene, of hacking, wheezing, bloody coughs stifled in dirty handkerchiefs as black smoke chokes the air from aching lungs. 

Dreams of digging - for what? - in soft, dark soil, nearly black against the porous surface of bones bleached white. 

Dreams of Arthur; the absence of him, like the hole a bullet leaves behind. 

When Charles dreams that dream, it always ends the same; he wakes up gasping, shaken and startled and scared in the dark of their cozy little cabin. His sweat is cold on his brow, and the duvet - worth every penny - lies heavy on his chest.

More often than not, he can hear Arthur’s snuffling little snores syncopated with the rumbling purr of a happy cat, once he’s caught his breath and his heart has stopped pounding in his ears. 

On night like that, when Charles dreams that dream, he doesn’t sleep; can’t sleep, can’t close his eyes on Arthur’s dark silhouette. Just in case. 

When Charles dreams that dream, he lies awake, watching the gentle rise-and-fall of Arthur’s chest as the light turns from blue to grey to gold and they both just keep on breathing.


	4. Albert, Alberta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: In the Kiyanaw universe, Albert and Arthur meet up.  
Anon asked "For your charthur series, imagine Arthur crossing paths with Albert in canada cause Albert is now doing Canadian wilderness photos. Charles come home to his wife having lunch with this guy (and showing off those happy goat babies) and gets all jealous and possesive"
> 
> "Tags": Drunk Arthur, Albert, Charles, Goat Babies in Hats, Happy Shit

When Charles and Taima roll in from town, just past dinner time, Charles is surprised to see a strange horse hitched outside he and Arthur’s little homestead cabin; the scene inside is even stranger.

Arthur’s old trunk - the one full to bursting with trinkets from their old life, including a collection of hats that would rival any woman of high society’s - is pulled out and open, the contents strewn haphazardly about the house. Arthur himself is sprawled out in one of their rickety dining chairs, a beer in hand, and he’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing, a hand pressed to his chest as he struggles to breath through the laughter.

Charles has to try very hard to keep a straight face, too.

There’s a stranger, a scrawny, city-looking white man with a scraggly beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He’s flushing too, drunk as Arthur is and giggling, but he’s focused, eyes trained on the little viewfinder of his impressive studio camera.

The camera itself is aimed at the kitchen table, whereon Pistachio sits; she’s got one of Arthur’s old hats, a big black flat-brim thing he’d picked up in Saint Denis a lifetime ago, and she’s chewing idly on a straw canotier Charles’s never seen before. Pumpkin is prancing around underneath the table, dressed up in a checkered bandana and a strip of old leather fashioned into a tiny baby goat gunbelt.

It takes Charles a minute of observing the chaos to find Pasketti - “It’s a real word, I heard Jack say it once!” - curled up under a big sombrero in the wash bin.

Charles has to take a deep breath to keep his composure, and even so he can feel laughter welling inside him as he says in his best stern, stoic voice;

“Would you like to explain to me what’s going on here, _nîwah_?”

Arthur can’t tell him through the laughter.


	5. Sleepin' Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: Arthur and Charles are drunk and messing around. Set in the Kiyanaw universe.  
Anon asked "Hm. Thoughts on sleep role play? Arthur prentending to be asleep while charles rubs one out, charles pretending to believe that Arthur is asleep, pulls his cloths down slowly to expose him without 'waking' him, touches him ect? (I know some people are not into it, so just to be clear I mean 100% consensual role play stuff, and I apologize profusely if it ain't your jam 💝)"
> 
> "Tags": Arthur, Charles, Drunk Sex, Somnophilia (consensual), Titty fucking, Roleplay, Dirty talk, Cum Facial

“Hush, _pêpîsis_, hush, sshhh,” Charles is slurring through giggles as he attempts to cover Arthur’s loud mouth with one hand while simultaneously trying to pull the he at quilt of their bed over Arthur’s head.

They’re just the right side of drunk, and Charles has been uselessly trying to put Arthur to bed like a baby for the past forty minutes; has him all tucked in and everything, even if he’s still mostly dressed and keeps sitting up to take swigs from the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand.

Arthur can barely speak through the laughter, and even if he could, Charles keeps hushing him, pushing him back down and tucking him back in every time he sits up.

Eventually, Arthur goes down without a fuss and lets Charles pull the covers up over the top of his head before flopping down on top of him as if to pin him there, tucked up under the blanket.

They lie like that for a while, until the laughter has subsided and Charles is just floating in the comfortable space of being drunk and warm and in love. Arthur’s stopped laughing, too, has gone soft and silent underneath the blanket in that way that makes Charles suspect first, that Arthur’s fallen asleep, and then, that Arthur’s pretending to be asleep, that he’s waiting for the right moment to pop back up and scare the living daylights out of Charles.

By the slow, even cadence of his shallow breathing and the absence of the soft, sad sniffling noises he knows Arthur makes when he’s truly asleep, Charles knows he’s faking it.

Even so, when he pulls back the covers, Arthur doesn’t stir – continues to lie there, eyes shut and lips gently parted, chest rising and falling softly but otherwise perfectly still.

By no means is Arthur a sleeping beauty, all rough edges and hard lines, a real man’s man. Charles’s man. Charles’s wife, lying there, asleep and vulnerable, long eyelashes rested on high cheekbones that’ve flushed pink from liquor, and Charles must be drunker than he thought because the vulnerability of it, of Arthur looking so peaceful and almost innocent in sleep, it does something to him. Like tossing a stone into a still pond, he wants to disrupt that ripple-less surface, to see just how far Arthur will take this little ruse.

Charles is almost certain he’s drunk; were he sober, something as simple as this wouldn’t have his dick firming up the way it is now.

“_Nîwah_,” he murmurs, quiet and gentle as if Arthur truly are asleep, the way he murmurs most mornings to try and rouse Arthur after he’s put on a pot of coffee.

“_Nîwah_.”

Nothing.

“_Pêpîsis_.”

Nothing.

“_Omiyosiw_.”

As Charles runs the pad of his thumb feather-light over Arthur’s cracked and chapped bottom lip, the man’s eyelids flutter but do not open; when Charles pushes his thumb, just gently, between those lips to press against the soft, damp surface of Arthur’s tongue, the only indication Arthur gives to consciousness is a soft sigh as Charles draws his jaw downwards.

For Charles, with his cock full-hard in his trousers now, that’s enough.

Slowly, with all the grace and skill of an experienced hunter stalking through the underbrush, he draws the covers back, just slightly; just so he can see the sparse patch of hair between Arthur’s exposed tits and his peaked, pink nipples. They look almost innocent like this, Arthur asleep and unaware…

It’s hard to keep himself from reaching out and pinching one of those perfect little nubs, or from leaning forward to suck on one in the way Charles knows makes Arthur flushed and desperate and embarrassed, but Charles manages. Busies himself instead with pushing his trousers down, just enough that he can take his hard cock in hand and begin to stroke, slow and cautious – move too fast and Arthur might wake up.

Charles is usually quiet, especially so when he jerks himself, but tonight, buzzed on booze and the way Arthur looks softened by sleep, he allows himself to gasp a little louder, to murmur quietly under his breath as he strokes himself.

“Look at you, _nîwah_,” he whispers, carefully rocking his hips into the tight circle of his fist, even as he continues to stroke himself. “Even asleep, you look so good. What you do to me – I can’t help myself.”

He has to be careful, so careful when he lays a gentle hand on Arthur’s chest to squeeze at the soft swell of muscle there, just the slightest application of pressure. He can feel Arthur’s nipple, hard and warm, against the palm of his hand and God, does he just want to squeeze that tit, dig his fingers into the meat of it until it bruises purple-green and sore, but he can’t. Has to content himself with gentle, barely-there caresses that have goosebumps rising on Arthur’s skin – Arthur must be dreaming, with his soft panting breaths and the way his hands are fisted in the sheets as Charles leans forward to gently, carefully slide the leaking tip of his cock between Arthur’s tits.

“Look at what you do to me, _sîwanos_, how bad I want you. Can’t even – can’t even wake you up for it, I want you so bad. Just gonna, gonna come on your pretty tits and you’ll never know, won’t know how hard I-I came just watching you sleep.”

He’s close now, with his cock held firm against Arthur’s chest, his free hand ghosting up the side of Arthur’s neck, over his cheek to tangle gently in his hair.

“I’m going to come, _nîwah_,” Charles confides, and that too is whispered like a secret. “Right, right in your mouth, you won’t even notice, it’ll be like I was never even here… Rubbed one out all over your big tits and you won’t even know… won’t even know how, how bad I want you, how hard you make me, how bad I – oh, oh, nîwah –“

Charles comes with little more than a soft, groaning gasp, the tip of his cock rested on Arthur’s bottom lip, spilling his seed between those gently parted lips and across the his flushing hot cheeks.

When Charles opens his eyes, cock still in hand, Arthur is awake the way he’s been all evening, his pale eyes fluttering open to lock on Charles’s own. He’s got come on his lips still, and his eyes look glassy and desperate with wonder and desire; When Arthur roles his hips, his erection bumps against Charles’s ass.

“Pretty sure there ain’t no fairytale what says that’s the best way to wake a sleepin’ beauty, Charles.”


	6. Fuck It Up to the Tempo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: Modern AU where Arthur and Charles are boyfriends. Stems from an ask about Trans Arthur, but is ambiguous, as he's not explicitly stated to be trans here  
Anon asked "Ok ok ok. What about Charles watching Arthur doing something completely innocent, and Charles getting off on it. Charles wrapping his thick fingers around his dick and just having at it while Arthur has his head sky fucking high..."
> 
> "Tags": Charles, Arthur, Masturbation, Voyeurism (sort of?), Fantasizing, Eating Ass, Cumming in pants, Frottage,

Arthur is fixing Charles’s shitty 2006 Honda Civic (_again_), and Charles is fucking hard. Like, rock hard.

Like, capital H Hard.

Can’t tear his eyes away from Arthur’s tight ass – God Bless the leg press – in those stupid tight Dad Jeans as he shakes it to Beyoncé Hard.

Kinda can’t help but stroke himself, just a little, through the thin fabric of his joggers Hard.

It’s just, it’s cute, the way Arthur knows his way around an engine, effortless and engrossed in the task at hand. It’s sexy, the way he keeps muttering, low and breathy – “Fuck, you whore, get in there, for Christ’s sake” – as he works, periodically pausing to wipe his grimy hands on his jeans. It’s downright obscene, how he grunts with effort, like he’s on all fours and taking it in the ass and a hair’s breadth from coming instead of replacing the radiator of an old sedan.

It’s crazy, how much Charles loves him, even in these simple moments.

And it’s crazy how fucking hard he is.

So yeah, he’s kinda rubbing himself, kinda feeling up the way his dick has filled out big and thick, even tucked in the leg of his pants, trying to keep quiet.

It’s not like Arthur will be mad or freaked out if he noticed; it’s just, Charles really needs his car fixed, and if Arthur notices the raging hard-on Charles is sporting he’ll get distracted and the job will never get done and it will be the Ikea bookshelf debacle all over again.

Besides, it’s kind of fun, in it’s own way, getting off with Arthur blissfully unaware, half-heartedly warbling along to _Shape of You_.

And Christ is Charles getting off now. Can’t help it, really, it feels good, the tease of his own hand, straight-up stroking now, pushing down hard with the palm of his hand just to feel the way it has a little bit of pre leaking out.

He imagines bending Arthur over the hood of that fucking car, yanking his stupid Dad Jeans down so he can watch that tight ass work. Nearly groans, thinking about getting on his knees to spread Arthur’s asscheeks and lick all the way up until Arthur’s gasping. Almost fucking comes in his pants imagining the familiar feeling of pushing his cock inside Arthur’s slick, wet hole while they’re both still mostly dressed and the garage door is wide open.

The song changes, something Charles doesn’t recognize (“_Slow songs, they for skinny hoes_”), and Arthur reaches up to shut the hood of the Honda; his shirt’s too small, rides up and exposes the dimpled small of his back as he raises his arms, and that’s it, Game Over.

Almost.

“Babe, what –“ Arthur stutters as Charles crowds up against him from behind, grabs Arthur’s hips and pulls ‘til his dick is grinding up against Arthur’s round ass.

Arthur doesn’t get to finish the thought, though, because Charles is kissing him over his shoulder, pushing a hot eager tongue into Arthur’s mouth as he humps against him.

With all the teasing and the touching and the way Arthur goes limp and lax and moans into Charles’s mouth, how he just goes with it, it takes Charles like six seconds to be blowing his load in his pants like he’s sixteen again.

“Jesus,” Arthur gasps when Charles withdraws, feeling come-drunk and happy. “The fuck was that?”

In lieu of an answer, Charles just licks a stripe up Arthur’s sweaty neck – he tastes like salt and grease and gasoline and its gross, shouldn’t be so fucking hot – and pushes a palm between Arthur’s shoulders til Charles has got him bent over the hood of that shitty 2006 Honda Civic.

“You’re so sexy when you do shit” is all Charles says before he’s on his knees and yanking down those stupid Dad Jeans so he can finally get his mouth on that perfect, tight ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracklist  
[Countdown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XY3AvVgDns) \- Beyonce  
[Shape of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGwWNGJdvx8) \- Ed Sheeran  
[Tempo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raVe1hZxFAc) \- Lizzo
> 
> It's from Charles's Spotify Daily Mix, and Arthur teases him about his music taste afterwards


End file.
